Violet Hill
by UnsuaveOffTheMattress
Summary: "you say you can't feel anything, but I know you care or else you wouldn't have done this for me." soulless!sam, wincest. Rating for hot guys and implied sexual acts.


I know, I know, it's been forever, but I'm back with coldplay references and soulless Sam and everything else that I guess I owe you all. So, yeah, enjoy it, and if you don't that's okay just you reading it is enough to make me smile six ever.

xx

Violet Hill

You're beyond exhausted, covered in near violet bruises in the general shape of his fingertips and plagued with a corrupt revere for he who gave them to you. You're enthralled with him, captivated by his eyes no matter how dead, apathetic, and disparaging they seem. Awkwardly, you fiddle with your fingers and then ask in a small voice if you can sit down.

He looks you up and down a few times and then rolls his eyes. "I guess."

You smile nervously and sit down beside him. The grass is long, the thick and lush green of it creeping up on your legs bare below the knees. It's getting colder as the sun starts to set, and even though it's April and it's warm where you are—wherever you are—there's a chill dashing through the air. You cross your arms over your chest, and he looks over at you.

"Cold?" he asks.

You nod, but don't look up at him. He's dark, now, and he's acting as though he's above all this—above you, above romance, above any sort of contact what so ever. He complied only because you wanted it, and because you were stressed, and even though he couldn't feel anything, he complied because he knew somewhere that seeing you happy would make things better, soothe that little tension in his mind that comes along whenever he thinks about getting better. You noticed this earlier, as he threw you down on the grass and viciously started to undo your belt buckle, that even though he's been coming off as indifferent and arrogant, he still feels something for you, and though it may not be as strong as before, it's there, you're still his weakness, and he's willing to give into you when you need something from him. "It's not that bad, though." You tell him in regards to temperature. "Don't worry about it."

He continues to stare, watching as goose bumps start to come to on your arms. "You're shaking." He says.

You shrug slightly, too deep in thoughts of lying breathlessly in the grass as he tore off layers and relentlessly grabbed at you to notice. You can still taste the bitter alcohol he'd transferred to your lips as you press them together, and remember having to pull away after a few seconds due to how heavy he tasted.

"What?" he asked, pulling back slightly as you managed to put a hand up to your mouth.

You coughed a little and told him, "It's so strong."

That made him smile, and for a second, you took in how genuine it looked as apposed to the fake smiles you've been seeing. "I thought you liked it like that."

"Yeah," you started to smirk as you moved your hand. "But not on you."

He then gave a fake, "Sorry," and kept at the merciless violation that brought you to this sore and heavy breathing mess you are now. Now as he takes a gentle hold of your chin and turns you towards him. "It's okay if you're cold." Sam says, that either genuine or extremely convincing smile coming back over his features. "If you're cold, I'll give you my jacket, but if you're just trying to act tough and shrug it off, that's not okay."

You give him a questioning look. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't have to try and act all tough around me."

"I'm not." You argue, but he can see right through you. You are trying to act tough, trying to cancel him out, trying to be half as apathetic and indifferent as him. It's not working, but you're trying. "You've just been away from me for too long."

He rolls his eyes. "Please," Sam strips himself of his light jacket and draped it over your shoulders in a slightly awkward manner. "Give it up, you look pathetic."

You pause.

He takes the hint, and sighs. "Okay, not pathetic, but you're not all that good at faking it either."

"I'm not faking it." You push shakily. "I'm fine."

"Fine," He stands, brushing some of the grass of his jeans. "Then let's go."

Too sore to stand, you simply stare up at him, your eyes big and giving the impression that you don't care at all how tough he thinks you are anymore.

"Come on." He says. "Or I'm leaving without you."

You shake your head, waiting for him to get his hands on you and drag you along.

"You're tough." He says. "Get up."

"You're strong." You return. "Carry me."

He rolls his eyes again, and then you're sure that it's a habit. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you did this."

"Man up, you asked for it."

"Yeah, but you're still gonna carry me."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Again, why?"

"Because you care."

"Dean-"

"You say you can't feel anything, but I know you care. Or else you wouldn't have done this for me."

Exasperatedly, he sighs. "This wasn't for you."

"That's why you kept telling me it was, right?" you slip your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, and they cover your hands. "That's why you gave me where I wanted where I wanted it, right?"

He doesn't answer.

You got him. "Carry me, Sammy."

xx

PS.

Babies. Hurt. Angst. Comfort. Soon. This week. I promise. I love you. Have a nice day, evening, night, what ever time it is when you're reading this.


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